


Heaven is a Place on Earth

by CeruleanHeart



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (the last two are archive tags wow), Alternate Universe - Wings, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Wing Kink, Wing Worship, and, but really this is mostly, experiment!Billy?, one instance of, winged!Billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 22:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18669724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanHeart/pseuds/CeruleanHeart
Summary: One late summer night Steve finds an angel crash-landed in a dirty alleyway.Or so Steve thinks, until the guy opens his mouth. Billy is a mess, drunk and mean and not angelic in the least. But he's also hurt and beautiful so Steve stays to help despite better judgement.





	Heaven is a Place on Earth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Natrix_natrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natrix_natrix/gifts).



> Fill for a **[lovely prompt](https://highon85.tumblr.com/post/183989961011/wingedbilly)** i got on tumblr.  
> This is a slightly revised and improved version with (hopefully) less typos and some added details. Posting this separately from tumblr anthology bc it's too long.  
>   
>   
> Original prompt: "Wing porn. Shaking wing porn. (Bird's wings shake when excited or hurt, like your hands would, but you see it more because well. They stick out haha) Steve finds Billy beaten up in an alley or something. Drunk and mean. Maybe Neil had a go at his wings. Tries to help. Patches a reluctant Billy up who is trying not to get overwhelmed because Steve is touching him -and his feathers- so gently and with reverence. This is a new feeling for Billy and it's a LOT, now."

It’s late when Steve leaves the local Fair Mart with a plastic bag full of snacks and a can of beer. So late, that the streets are empty and the town has gone quiet except for the sounds of muffled music, laughter and clinking glasses coming from the bar across the street. 

Just another regular small town night, uneventful and cozy, it is also familiar in a way that when it’s disturbed by something the noise sticks out like a sore thumb. That’s why when Steve hears it for the first time, he almost drops his bag and spills his beer; a loud flapping and gushing of air that sounds like a sail that has been caught in a storm.

Except the air is still tonight, dense and stuffy with summer heat. And for a moment Steve thinks he imagined it but then he hears it again, this time accompanied by a loud scraping sound and the crash of glass shattering on asphalt.

It sounds like trouble and Steve is already fumbling with his car keys when he hears a low groan and stills. Someone's in pain. Steve can't just walk away knowing that, he's got to check at least, that’s the decent thing to do. With a sigh he turns around. 

The flapping starts again and he follows the sound into the back alley between the bar and another store. What he sees there stuns him both with wonder and shock. 

An angel is lying on the dirty ground among glass shards and trash. A literal angel. 

Steve blinks, rubs his eyes and looks again but he's still there. A man, splayed out on the ground in nothing but a pair of blue jeans, shirtless and barefoot otherwise, long golden curls spilling over his face and two great wings that are the color of freshly fallen snow connected to his shoulder blades. They’re half spread like he’s about to take flight any second and their span is so wide, they’d surely touch both walls of the alley if they were unfolded all the way. Steve has never been a man of faith but for a moment the sight of them makes him consider going down on his knees and starting to pray. 

But then the angel groans again and moves his head to look directly at Steve. 

“The fuck are you looking at?” he slurs, scowling, and spits on the floor in front of Steve's feet with a gross, wet sound. 

Steve jumps back a step, disgusted and a little bit offended too. The glob of saliva is stained pink with blood and on closer inspection, Steve realizes that the guy looks less angelic and more fucked up. 

He's covered in bruises and cuts, blood is running from his nose and smeared across his chin and one of his wings sticks out in an unnatural looking angle. Steve looks up from where the man is lying on the ground and around, sees that the walls bear traces of blood and feathers all the way to the rooftop. It looks like the “angel” fell straight from the sky and into the alley. 

“Hey!” the winged guy snaps, voice throaty like he smoked too many cigarettes “M’talking to you, asshole!”

He flaps his wings again, causing a little tornado in the alley that whirls around plastic bags and debris, blows dust into Steve’s face. It lifts him maybe 5 inches off the ground, before he collapses on the floor again, cursing under his breath. He's drunk like a skunk Steve realizes. 

“Are you ok?” Steve asks when he finally finds his tongue again and it already sounds stupid before all the words have left his mouth. 

“Fuck off.” the guy snarls in response and folds his wings so that they're shielding his back. 

They're trembling, downright shaking and it makes the guy look like an oversized, miserable bird instead of a celestial creature. Something in Steve softens with empathy despite the shitty attitude he's being given. 

“You're hurt.” Steve says gently and takes a careful step forward “Let me help you.”

“Dun need no help.” wings grumbles but he doesn't make a move to stop Steve so he comes closer and crouches down next to him.

“Hi, I'm Steve. What's your name?” 

There's a long moment of silence filled with nothing but the stranger's labored breathing until Steve gets a reply. 

“Billy.” the guy says, scrunching his nose in distaste, sounds defensive somehow. 

It's an odd name for an angel, that's for sure. 

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Steve wants to know, decides to ignore the whole wing situation, for now, this here is a man who needs help. 

“I fell. What's it look like, genius?” Billy bites out, tries to get up and fails, sinks back on the ground cheek squished against the asphalt, lips pursed in a pout. He looks like one of Michelangelo’s cherubs grew up, joined a biker gang and now spends his days fighting and getting wasted. It would be almost comical if it wasn’t so sad.

“Here. Let me, let me just help you.” Steve sighs, ignores the snarky remark as well. He wouldn't be surprised if Billy downright asked for the beating he must’ve gotten with a temperament like that. 

Steve grabs one of his arms and pulls. Billy is heavy, made entirely of muscle it seems and by the time they manage to get him into a sitting position they're both panting and sweat is dripping from Steve's forehead and Billy's chest. Steve tries not to watch beads of it trickle down between his pecs and along his abs. 

Billy is gorgeous, maybe one of the most beautiful people Steve has ever met, even in his wrecked state. It's not only his perfect body, sculpted like the statue of a greek god but also his face, which is a fascinating mix of hard and soft features. He's got a square jaw and thick neck, a strong chin dusted with stubble but a pair of kissable plump pink lips and the prettiest eyes Steve has ever seen. 

Right now they are inspecting Steve, heavy-lidded and gaze lazy, the blue of them half hidden behind the dark curtain of his incredibly long lashes.

“What?” Billy asks, licks his lips slowly, sloppy and Steve realizes he's been staring. 

“Are you… you know…” Steve's got to ask, despite the embarrassment already etching itself bright red into his cheeks, he's got to ask “Are you an angel?”

Billy tips his head back until it bumps against the brick wall behind him and laughs. It's a distorted, painful sound, on the edge of hysteria, hollow and completely without any joy. He laughs and laughs and Steve's heart clenches in his chest. 

“I'll take that as a no.” he says dryly when Billy is done, just leaning against the wall now, wheezing and holding his side. 

“And you're right about that, pretty boy.” 

“Are you going to tell me what you are or what happened, then?” 

“Nope.” Billy says, pops the p and shakes his head. 

Steve sighs, he didn't really expect a different answer. 

“Are you at least going to let me help you?” 

Billy doesn't reply, gnaws on his lower lip instead and studies Steve's face again. 

“What do you wan’ from me?” he asks finally and leans forward to squint at Steve “You a lil faggot or something? Horny for some feath… feathery dick? Or maybe it's my ass you're after? I know your type, I do.”

Steve feels like he's been doused in ice water. He jumps to his feet, clenches his fists till his knuckles crack, anger boiling acid-hot in his veins.

“Fine.” he snaps “Be like that. See who else is going to help you.”

He turns around to walk away but a hand closes around his wrist.

“Wai… Wait!” Billy pushes his hair out of his face with his free hand and blinks up at Steve like he's suddenly starting to sober up. “M'sorry. I'm real drunk, ok? Don't go.”

He does look sorry, just as sorry as he looks drunk. Which is very.

“Ok.” Steve sighs “Whatever.”

“Stay?” Billy cocks his head and bats his lashes. “Please, pretty boy?” 

Steve snorts, shakes his head in disbelief. Billy’s got some nerve calling him the f word and then flirting unabashedly the next second. 

“You already forgot my name, didn't you? It's Steve.”

Billy smirks, lies straight-faced when he says “No.” 

He's clearly not an angel, more of an asshole actually, a total dumpster fire. But he's got that type of messy charm that's hard to resist. He’s also still bleeding.

“You look like you got run over by a truck, big guy. Let me get something for your cuts. I’ll be right back, you just stay put.” Steve instructs him and frees his wrist from his grip.

He finds what he needs in Fair Mart’s first aid section and returns with a bag full of supplies. Billy is sitting where he left him, quietly humming to himself.  

“Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?” Steve announces his return and crouches down next to Billy. 

He watches Steve with mild interest as he soaks a cotton pad in rubbing alcohol and starts to clean the cuts on Billy's face first. 

Billy barely flinches when Steve touches the cut in his lip and cleans the blood from his chin and under his nose. Steve wonders if that means he's used to a procedure like that. Some of the bruises on his body aren't new and there's an old scar running through his right brow. 

Under the dirt and the blood, Billy’s skin is sun-kissed, a beautiful light bronze. Quietly Steve wonders how far and how high his wings can take him, how close a man like him flies to the sun. Too close maybe or not close enough.

Either way, it’s heart-wrenching seeing something that’s so beautiful so damaged. Maybe that’s why Steve feels strangely compelled to help, he just wishes Billy hadn't suddenly forgotten how to speak. He keeps on working in awkward silence while Billy keeps watching him, cleans the cuts on his arms and shoulders, wraps the bigger ones in gauze bandages and sticks bandaids on the rest. 

“Thanks.” Billy says finally when Steve is done patching him up.

“No big deal.” Steve shrugs even though he’s kinda proud of the job he’s done “Let me have a look at your wings next?” 

Billy stiffens at the question, draws back from Steve and folds his previously relaxed wings, hunches them up and close together over his back. He keeps them there, tense and shaking like he’s been hooked up to a live wire.

“They’re fine.” he claims, stares at Steve with haunted eyes.

It’s a blatant lie, because among the pure white of his wings the blood in his cuts stands out like a dozen red flags. Especially the left one has taken quite some damage. When it moves Steve can see glass shards glitter between the feathers, thinks Billy must’ve smashed into a window, or through it for that matter.

“Come on, Billy.” Steve tries, puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder “I’m not going to hurt you, ok? I didn’t hurt you before, did I?”

Billy’s breathing heavily, nostrils flaring like he’s getting ready for a fight.

“You must think I’m a freak.” he presses the words out between clenched teeth, jaw ticking, eyes hard.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, honestly confused because Billy’s moods seem unpredictable like the sea.

“These things.” he shrugs his wings once, it looks like a movement that hurts because his face twists in pain. 

“Your wings!?” Steve blurts, truly taken aback “They’re beautiful! No one would think you’re a freak! When I saw you, I really believed you were an angel for a moment. Until, you know, until you opened your mouth.”

Billy huffs out a laugh at that, there’s the hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth and the tension in his shoulders, and wings drains immediately.

“Yeah. I’m no angel.” he mumbles, more to himself.

“I know.” Steve says and smiles. “You’re Billy.” 

Billy visibly softens, face going slack with something akin to awe as his eyes flick across Steve’s face like he’s looking for a trap somewhere behind his words. 

“It’s alright. Let me help you.” Steve whispers, careful not to startle Billy again. It’s weird, the guy is without a doubt strong enough to break someone’s face and even more, if messed with. Yet, at the same time he seems incredibly fragile.

Steve tugs gently on his wrist, pulls Billy close again and he follows without further protest, leaves his sitting position and comes to kneel in front of Steve. Head hanging between his shoulders he slowly extends his injured wing, lowers it until the tips of the outer feathers touch the ground, so Steve can look at it.

Captivated, Steve watches strong muscles shift under the cover of feathers as it unfolds in all its glory. It’s a thing of wonder, something truly otherworldly that doesn't belong in a dirty alleyway, and so huge that Billy could easily wrap him up in it, if he wanted to. 

For a second time tonight Steve finds himself staring and quickly stands to get a better view of the damage. There’s a bigger cut in the shoulder section and two smaller further down but the rest of the red spots are just bloodstains from the original injuries, he registers with relief. The glass shards, however, aren’t what they seemed at first. When Steve picks out one from one of the cuts, he sees that it’s the tiny piece of a mirror.

A lump forms in his throat at the implication, judging from what he’d said about himself earlier… did Billy? Steve decides not to ask. Maybe another time, if he gets the chance, tonight is not a night for questions.

Just as carefully as he patched up the rest of Billy, Steve cleans the wounds, removes all mirror shards. By the end of it, Billy’s tense again, his great wings shudder under Steve’s hands, the big feathers rustling like dry leaves in the wind.

“Relax. We’re done now, big boy.” Steve says and runs his hand soothingly over the upper covers of Billy’s wing.  

With a deep sigh he deflates, all tension drained from him, so Steve does it again, starts stroking along the feathers with the gentlest of caresses.

They’re silky smooth, dry, slightly cool to the touch and Steve’s hand glides over them easily like water would run down a lotus leaf. It’s fascinating, the way they're firm but elastic under the press of his palms, delicate but strong. When his fingers trail down along the primary feathers on the outer part of Billy’s wings they feel razor-sharp and soft at the same time. Enthralled Steve watches the outer vane cut along his index finger without splitting skin, it’s a thrilling sensation, highly sensual. It makes goosebumps rise on the back of Steve’s arm and he has to suppress a light shiver himself.

Billy shifts, lifts his wing a bit so Steve’s finger slip over the upper edge on his next stroke and underneath, on the inside of the feathery appendage. 

Steve can’t help himself, touching Billy’s wing feels wonderful, he never wants to stop and curiously enough Billy doesn’t seem to mind it. On the contrary, he’s got his eyes closed, lashes fluttering only ever so faintly, he appears lost in the brush of Steves palms on him.

Steve continues in silence and reverence, lets his hands slowly wander back towards Billy’s body. The inside feathers where his wings connect to his shoulder blades are completely different from those on the outer side, they’re down-soft, fluffy and incredibly warm. For a moment, Steve is overcome with a strong desire to press his face against the spot and pull Billy into a tight embrace.

He only manages to resist the temptation because the wings tremble again under his touch and Billy lets out a shuddering breath. As if startled by his own sound he hastily claps a hand over his mouth and turns away.

“Shit.” he mumbles.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Steve pulls his hand back “Did that hurt?”

“No.” Billy shakes his head, vigorously like a little boy. “It felt… It felt nice.”

It’s hard to tell in the dim light of the alleyway with just a naked lightbulb and an exit sign to illuminate the scene but maybe, only maybe there’s a little blush on Billy’s cheeks. He’s blinking rapidly and Steve’s heart suddenly overflows with warmth.

Gently, he pulls Billy’s hand away from his face and cups it in his own two, swipes his thumb over a damp spot on his cheek that might be tears. He turns his chin so Billy looks at him through clumped lashes, eyes ocean blue and just as wet.

“Do you have a place to sleep tonight, Billy?” he asks gently.

Billy blinks a couple of times, confused until his eyes zero in on Steve’s again.

“What, are you offering a bed for the night? Your bed?” he says voice thick and hoarse.

Steve lets go of his face like he’s touched something hot, shame flooding through him in a sickening wave.

“I… I wasn’t trying to come onto you I just…” he stammers tries to defend himself and his intentions, even though they might not have been as clean as he would admit. 

“I’d take it!” Billy interrupts him quickly with a hint of panic in his voice “I’m an idiot, that came out wrong. I’d take it… a bed, your bed. Doesn’t matter. As long… as long as you don’t stop touching me like that, as long as you don’t stop looking at me like that. Like… like I’m…”

“Like you’re what?” Steve asks, heart pounding in his chest.

“Like I’m human.”

“Oh.” Steve breathes and feeling like his legs have been knocked from under his body he sinks to his knees.

He’s on eye level with Billy now and sees a clarity in them, that wasn’t there before. They share a heartbeat and a breath, a moment of deep understanding and finally, as they both lean in and their lips touch, a kiss.

And when Billy pulls Steve closer and Steve meets the slow press of his tongue, and those two great wings wrap around them, to shield their bodies and embrace them in a private cosmos, Steve knows Billy might not be an angel but heaven is a place on earth.

**Author's Note:**

> Baaaw! Take good care of your trashy angel boyfriend from now on, Steve!
> 
> Thanks for reading hope you enjoyed it! This fic may not be brand new but kudos and comments are always super appreciated!  
> Also, find me over at tumblr @highon85 if you like for more writing, 80s aesthetics and occasional art. ;)


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